White Van Man

White Van Man White van driver, he couldn’t give a damn Oh how I wish that he would scram From lofty heights he owns the road He’s deft at signs sure to forebode With cell in hand intent on chat He swears at the driver wearing a hat Coursing a path that’s bumper to bumper Behind the woman, oh how he could thump her His high sided vehicle sways this way and that He’ll be there soon with foot down flat He’s king of the motorway’s third lane He’d love to shunt and scare, be a right bane But to him his driving feels quite lame He’s white van driver who feels no shame A hotheaded madcap who loves to race Carrying a smugness all over his face When home he parks to own the street Along with others, its quite a fleet In the morn, he rises with the lark Returning faithfully after its dark He’s white van driver, he does what he likes He tells his neighbours to get on their bikes His majestic status is sure to be noted Carrying an image to which he’s devoted So white van man, you don’t give a damn But I tell you squarely that you’re a right sham